


Forget Me Not

by lethargicProfessor



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Red Hood and the Outlaws
Genre: Angst, Gen, Reaction to Batman and Red Hood/Robin #20, hurting!Jay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, he drank to forget. </p>
<p>Jason's feelings between his confrontation in Ethiopia and meeting with S'aru. Set between Batman and Robin/Red Hood #20 and  RHATO#19</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me Not

In the beginning, he drank to forget.

He tried to forget the pain -- physical, mental, and emotional -- with hip flasks and liquor stores and seedy bars that did more harm than good, because forgetting was the only way to keep moving forward.

The past hurt, and the hurt made functioning unbearable. It made it near-impossible to fulfill his duties, and, well, that just wasn’t going to sit right with him. So he drank, feeling the burn in his throat and the heat in his cheeks until the bartender shooed him away, and then he would drink some more, stumbling home, collapsing in a heap on the lumpy old mattress until the cycle started over.

He felt bad sometimes, about some of the things he was forgetting: Alfred’s stories about Bruce growing up, the smell of his food after a long patrol, the warm, reassuring smiles Bruce would shoot his way. Before, of course. Now Bruce was a broken man, more than he ever was before, and, obviously, it was all Jason’s fault.

But for every good memory there were five, ten nasty ones rearing their ugly heads, taunting him, haunting his nightmares until only sheer exhaustion could force him to rest. There were so many nights he sat up in bed, fighting the heaviness in his eyelids and the shaking in his hands, the tight feeling in his chest and his legs and his arms. He fought, because he was stubborn (because the dreams were more draining than insomnia could ever be) until his body shut down.

Some nights, he could feel the crowbar again, rattling from the force of the blows, sending shocks up his arms and legs and back and chest until bone gave in (wasn’t bone supposed to be stronger than steel? He swore he heard that somewhere, once) and he couldn’t breathe because the tightness in his chest was growing and blood, his blood, was rushing into his throat and lungs, pushing the air out until he was choking on the very thing keeping him alive.

He would wake up in cold sweats, shaking like a leaf, tears on his face because he wasn’t Jason Todd, the Red Hood, in his head, but little Jay, fifteen years old with a world waiting for him to become something /better/ except, he couldn’t, because he was busy being beaten to death by a deranged madman.

Once in a while, he wondered what things would have been like if he hadn’t died. Maybe Bruce would still be like he was before – serious, but caring. That Bruce had cared about him. Maybe Dick would have been around more; he had admired the guy even before he knew who he was, and a tiny part of him wanted to be his family too.

Maybe the Replacement would have shown up anyways. In all honesty, the kid wasn’t all that bad. He was smart. He was the detective he couldn’t live up to, and even Dick wasn’t on par to his level. No, the only bad thing about him was that Bruce had picked him as a replacement for Jason. Who knew, maybe they could have been friends under different circumstances.

But all of those what-ifs didn’t amount to anything. He was still running away, trying to forget, trying to ignore the pain. That’s all he ever did.

And now…He almost laughed at the irony.

Now Bruce wanted him to dredge up all those awful, vile, putrid memories to bring the brat back. Never mind that it completely fucked Jason up. Never mind that he still has nightmares about the pit and the dark.

But why should it matter? It’s just Jason. Just another Robin. Disposable.

A small part of him understood. The kid was just, what, ten? He had been just a little older. A whole life that wouldn’t happen, because his mother was a maniac and his father was the goddamned Batman.

But even the pain in his chest from the absolute betrayal couldn’t make him recall up those memories. He just _couldn’t_.

As he drove without a destination, Jason considered stopping for a drink or five. But no, not even alcohol would dull this mess. He wanted to forget, had to forget permanently.

The rush of clarity hit him so fast that he stomped on the breaks in the middle of the desert. The All-Caste. Of course.  That little monster S’aru could do it. He had before.

This time he really laughed, disabling the GPS in the car before he drove on. Before, he knew, even if he forgot for a little bit, that the memories were still there.

But not anymore. He had an out, and he could finally be free.


End file.
